i .. 


.         ;          mi 

i  •:  ••••.;••.•>;  >   ..-."  I .  ;. 


. 


/ 


• 


16  FIRST  EDITIONS  OF  AMERICAN  AUTHORS 

VOYNICH  (E.  L.) 

266  The  Gadfly,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1897,  first  edition $  5.00 

WESCOTT  (GLENWAY) 

267  The  Grandmothers,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,   1927,  first 

edition  3.50 

268  Goodbye  Wisconsin,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1928,  first 

edition 2.50 

WHITE  (WM.  ALLEN) 

269  The  Court  of  Boyland,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1899,  first 

edition   (name  on  flyleaf) 10.00 

WHITE  (STEWART  EDWARD) 

270  Gold,  8vo,  cloth,  Garden  City,  1913,  first  edition 7.50 

271  The  Gray  Dawn,  8vo,  cloth,  Garden  City,  1915,  first  edi- 

tion      5.00 

WHITTIER  (JOHN  GREENLEAF) 

Hazel  Blossom,  12mo,  cloth,  Boston,  1875,  first  edition..     5.00 
[273    Mabel  Martin,  crown  8vo,  illustrated,  Boston,  1876,  first 

edition  (first  issue  56  illustrations) 3.00 

WIGGIN  (KATE  DOUGLAS) 

274  Rebecca  of  Sunnybrook  Farm,  8vo,  cloth,  Boston,  1903, 

first  edition , 8.00 

275  New  Chronicles  of  Rebecca,  8vo,  cloth,  Boston,  1907, 

first   edition 4.50 

WILDER  (THORNTON) 

276  The  Cabala,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1926,  first  edition 25.00 

277  The  Bridge  of  San  Luis  Rey,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1927, 

first   edition 20.00 

278  The  Angel  That  Troubled  the  Waters,  8vo,  large  paper, 

limited  to  750  copies,  signed,  New  York,   1928,  first 
edition 20.00 

279  The  Woman  of  Andros,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1930,  first 

edition  3.00 

WILSON  (HARRY  LEON) 

280  Bunker  Bean,  8vo,  cloth,  Garden  City,  1913,  first  edition  10.00 

WYLIE  (ELINOR) 

281  The  Orphan  Angel,  8vo.,  cloth,  New  York,  1926,  first 

edition  4.00 

282  The  Orphan  Angel,  crown  8vo,  boards,  linen  back,  large 

paper,  limited  to  190  copies,  signed,  New  York,  1926, 

first   edition 15.00 

283  Trivial  Breath,  crown  8vo,  linen  back,  large  paper,  New 

York,  1928,  limited  to  100  copies,  signed,  first  edition..  15.00 

284  Angels  and  Earthly  Creatures,  8vo,  boards,  large  paper, 
_____    limited  to  200  copies,  New  York,  1929,  first  edition 10.00 


FIRST  EDITIONS  OF  AMERICAN  AUTHORS  15 

TARKINGTON  (BOOTH) 

247  The  Conquest  of  Canaan,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1905, 

first  edition $  3.50 

248  The  Guest  of  Quesnay,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1908,  first 

edition  3.50 

249  Penrod,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1914,  first  edition,  first 

issue  20.00"" 

250  Seventeen,  8vo,   cloth,   New  York,    1916,   first   edition, 

first  issue 10.00 

251  Penrod  and  Sam,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1916,  name  on 

flyleaf,  first  edition 12.50 

252  Alice  Adams,  8vo,  cloth,  Garden  City,  1921,  first  edition     3.50 

253  Penrod  Jashber,  8vo,  cloth,  Garden  City,  1929,  first  edi- 

tion      2.50 

THOMASON  (JOHN  W.,  JR.) 

254  Fix  Bayonets,  crown  8vo,  boards,  linen  back,  New  York, 

1926,  first  edition.    (A  note  of  thanks,  signed,  pasted 
in)  600 

'   ' 

THOREAU  (HENRY  D.) 

255  Excursions,  8vo,  original  cloth,  Boston,  1863,  fine  copy, 

first   edition 20.00 

256  A  Yankee  in  Canada,  8vo,  original  cloth,  Boston,  1866, 

first  edition 30.00 

TWAIN  (MARK) 

257  Burlesque  Autobiography,  12mo,  cloth,  New  York,  1871, 

first  edition,  second  issue 2.50 

258  A  Tramp  Abroad,  crown  8vo,  cloth,  Hartford,  1880,  first 

edition,  correct  issue,  frontispiece,  "Moses."  Fair  copy, 
lacks  back  flyleaf 12.50 

259  The  Stolen  White  Elephant,  12mo,  cloth,  Boston,  1882, 

first  edition 7.50 

260  Adventures   of   Huckleberry   Finn,   crown   8vo,    cloth, 

New   York,    1885,   first   edition,    first   issue,   with    all 
points,  slipcase 300.00 

261  The  Story  of  His  Life  and  Work,  by  Will  M.  Clemens, 

12mo,  paper  wrappers,  San  Francisco,  1892,  first  edi- 
tion      8.50 

262  The  American  Claimant,  8vo,  cloth,  New  York,  1892, 

first   edition 5.00 

263  Following  the  Equator,  crown  8vo,  cloth,  Hartford,  1897, 

mint  copy,  first  edition 15.00 

Christian  Science,  Svo,  cloth,  New  York,  1907,  first  edi- 
tion      6.50 

265    The  Adventures  of  Snodgrass,  crown  Svo,  boards,  Chi- 
cago, 1928,  first  edition....  5.00 


HAZEL-BLOSSOMS 


BY 


JOHN   GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.  OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY, 

LATE  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &  Co. 
1875- 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874, 

BY  JOHN    GREENLEAF  WHITTIER, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
SUMNER 13 

HAZEL-BLOSSOMS. 

THE  PRAYER  OF  AGASSIZ 33 

THE  FRIEND'S  BURIAL 40 

JOHN  UNDERBILL »  47 

IN  QUEST 58 

A  SEA  DREAM 62 

A  MYSTERY 70 

CONDUCTOR  BRADLEY 74 

CHILD-SONGS 77 

THE  GOLDEN  WEDDING  OF  LONGWOOD         ...  82 

KINSMAN .89 

VESTA    * .  91 

THE  HEALER         .       .       .        .  ' 93 

A  CHRISTMAS  CARMEN 96 

HYMN .  99 

POEMS   BY  ELIZABETH   H.  WHITTIER. 

THE  DREAM  OF  ARGYLE 103 

LINES  WRITTEN  ON   THE  DEPARTURE  OF  JOSEPH   STURGE      IO8 


VI  CONTENTS. 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS 
DR.  KANE  IN  CUBA 
LADY  FRANKLIN 
NIGHT  AND  DEATH 
THE  MEETING  WATERS 
THE  WEDDING  VEIL 
CHARITY 


NOTE. 


I  HAVE  ventured,  in  compliance  with  the  desire  of  dear 
friends  of  my  beloved  sister  ELIZABETH  H.  WHITTIER, 
to  add  to  this  little  volume  the  few  poetical  pieces  which 
she  left  behind  her.  As  she  was  very  distrustful  of  her 
own  powers,  and  altogether  without  ambition  for  literary 
distinction,  she  shunned  everything  like  publicity,  and 
found  far  greater  happiness  in  generous  appreciation  of 
the  gifts  of  her  friends  than  in  the  cultivation  of  her 
own.  Yet  it  has  always  seemed  to  me,  that  had  her 
health,  sense  of  duty  and  fitness,  and  her  extreme  self- 
distrust  permitted,  she  might  have  taken  a  high  place 
among  lyrical  singers.  These  poems,  with  perhaps  two 
or  three  exceptions,  afford  but  slight  indications  of  the 
inward  life  of  the  writer,  who  had  an  almost  morbid 
dread  of  spiritual  and  intellectual  egotism,  or  of  her  ten- 
derness of  sympathy,  chastened  mirthfulness,  and  pleas- 
ant play  of  thought  and  fancy,  when  her  shy,  beautiful 
soul  opened  like  a  flower  in  the  warmth  of  social  com- 
munion. In  the  lines  on  Dr.  Kane  her  friends  will  see 


8  NOTE. 

something  of  her  fine  individuality,  —  the  rare  mingling 
of  delicacy  and  intensity  of  feeling  which  made  her  dear 
to  them.  This  little  poem  reached  Cuba  while  the  great 
explorer  lay  on  his  death-bed,  and  we  are  told  that  he 
listened  with  grateful  tears  while  it  was  read  to  him  by 

his  mother. 

i 
I  am  tempted  to  say  more,  but  I  write  as  under  the  eye 

of  her  who,  while  with  us,  shrank  with  painful  depreca- 
tion from  the  praise  or  mention  of  performances  which 
seemed  so  far  below  her  ideal  of  excellence.  To  those 
who  best  knew  her,  the  beloved  circle  of  her  intimate 
friends,  I  dedicate  this  slight  memorial. 

J.  G.  W. 
AMESBURY,  9th  MO.,  1874. 


r  I  ^HE  summer  warmth  has  left  the  sky, 
The  summer  songs  have  died  away ; 
And,  withered,  in  the  footpaths  lie 
The  fallen  leaves,  but  yesterday 
With  ruby  and  with  topaz  gay. 


The  grass  is  browning  on  the  hills  ; 
No  pale,  belated  flowers  recall 
The  astral  fringes  of  the  rills, 
And  drearily  the  dead  vines  fall, 
Frost-blackened,  from  the  roadside  wall. 
9 


Yet,  through  the  gray  and  sombre  wood, 
Against  the  dusk  of  fir  and  pine, 
Last  of  their  floral  sisterhood, 
The  hazel's  yellow  blossoms  shine, 
The  tawny  gold  of  Afric's  mine! 

Small  beauty  hath  my  unsung  flower, 
For  spring  to  own  or  summer  hail ; 
But,  in  the  season's  saddest  hour, 
To  skies  that  weep  and  winds  that  wail 
Its  glad  surprisals  never  fail. 

O  days  grown  cold  !     O  life  grown  old ! 
No  rose  of  June  may  bloom  again  ; 
But,  like  the  hazel's  twisted  gold, 
Through  early  frost  and  latter  rain 
Shall  hints  of  summer-time  remain. 


And  as  within  the  hazel's  bough 

A  gift  of  mystic  virtue  dwells, 

That  points  to  golden  ores  below, 

And  in  dry  desert  places  tells 

Where  flow  unseen  the  cool,  sweet  wells, 

So,  in  the  wise  Diviner's  hand, 
Be  mine  the  hazel's  grateful  part 
To  feel,  beneath  a  thirsty  land, 
The  living  waters  .thrill  and  start, 
The  beating  of  the  rivulet's  heart ! 

Snfficeth  me  the  gift  to  light 
With  latest  bloom  the  dark,  cold  days  ; 
To  call  some  hidden  spring  to  sight 
That,  in  these  dry  and  dusty  ways, 
Shall  sing  its  pleasant  song  of  praise, 
ii 


O  Love  !   the  hazel-wand  may  fail, 
But  thou  canst  lend  the  surer  spell, 
That,  passing  over  Baca's  vale, 
Repeats  the  old-time  miracle, 
And  makes  the  desert-land  a  well. 


12 


SUMMER. 

"  I  am  not  one  who  has  disgraced  beauty  of  sentiment  by  deformity 
of  conduct,  or  the  maxims  of  a  freeman  by  the  actions  of  a  slave  ;  but, 
by  the  grace  of  God,  I  have  kept  my  life  unsullied."  —  MILTON'S 
Defence  of  the  People  of  England. 


SUMNER. 

/^\  MOTHER  STATE  !  —  the  winds  of  March 

Blew  chill  o'er  Auburn's  Field  of  God, 
Where,  slow,  beneath  a  leaden  arch 
Of  sky,  thy  mourning  children  trod. 

And  now,  with  all  thy  woods  in  leaf, 
Thy  fields  in  flower,  beside  thy  dead 

Thou  sittest,  in  thy  robes  of  grief, 
A  Rachel  yet  un comforted  ! 

And  once  again  the  organ  swells, 

Once  more  the  flag  is  half-way  hung, 


l6  SUMNER. 

And  yet  again  the  mournful  bells 
In  all  thy  steeple-towers  are  rung. 

And  I,  obedient  to  thy  will, 

Have  come  a  simple  wreath  to  lay, 

Superfluous,  on  a  grave  that  still 
Is  sweet  with  all  the  flowers  of  May. 

I  take,  with  awe,  the  task  assigned ; 

It  may  be  that  my  friend  might  miss, 
In  his  new  sphere  of  heart  and  mind, 

Some  token  from  my  hand  in  this. 

By  many  a  tender  memory  moved, 
Along  the  past  my  thought  I  send  ; 

The  record  of  the  cause  he  loved 
Is  the  best  record  of  its  friend. 


SUMNER.  I/ 

No  trumpet  sounded  in  his  ear, 

He  saw  not  Sinai's  cloud  and  flame, 

But  never  yet  to  Hebrew  seer 
A  clearer  voice  of  duty  came. 

God  said :   "  Break  thou  these  yokes  ;   undo 

These  heavy  burdens.     I  ordain 
A  work  to  last  thy  whole  life  through, 

A  ministry  of  strife  and  pain. 

"  Forego  thy  dreams  of  lettered  ease, 
Put  thou  the  scholar's  promise  by, 

The  rights  of  man  are  more  than  these." 
He  heard,  and  answered :   "  Here  am  I ! " 

He  set  his  face  against  the  blast, 
His  feet  against  the  flinty  shard, 


1 8  SUMNER. 

Till  the  hard  service  grew,  at  last, 
Its  own  exceeding  great  reward. 

Lifted  like  Saul's  above  the  crowd, 
Upon  his  kingly  forehead  fell 

The  first,  sharp  bolt  of  Slavery's  cloud, 
Launched  at  the  truth  he  urged  so  well. 

Ah  !    never  yet,  at  rack  or  stake, 

Was  sorer  loss  made  Freedom's  gain, 

Than  his,  who  suffered  for  her  sake 
The  beak-torn  Titan's  lingering  pain  ! 

The  fixed  star  of  his  faith,  through  all 
Loss,  doubt,  and  peril,  shone  the  same  ; 

As  through  a  night  of  storm,  some  tall, 
Strong  lighthouse  lifts  its  steady  flame. 


SUMNER.  19 

Beyond  the  dust  and  smoke  he  saw 

The  sheaves  of  freedom's  large  increase, 

The  holy  fanes  of  equal  law, 
The  New  Jerusalem  of  peace. 

The  weak  might  fear,  the  worldling  mock, 
The  faint  and  blind  of  heart  regret  ; 

All  knew  at  last  th'  eternal  rock 
On  which  his  forward  feet  were  set. 

The  subtlest  scheme  of  compromise 

Was  folly  to  his  purpose  bold  ; 
The  strongest  mesh  of  party  lies 

Weak  to  the  simplest  truth  he  told. 

One  language  held  his  heart  and  lip, 
Straight  onward  to  his  goal  he  trod, 


2O  SUMNER. 

And  proved  the  highest  statesmanship 
Obedience  to  the  voice  of  God. 

No  wail  was  in  his  voice,  —  none  heard, 
When  treason's  storm-cloud  blackest  grew, 

The  weakness  of  a  doubtful  word  ; 
His  duty,  and  the  end,  he  knew. 

The  first  to  smite,  the  first  to  spare ; 

When  once  the  hostile  ensigns  fell, 
He  stretched  out  hands  of  generous  care 

To  lift  the  foe  he  fought  so  well. 

For  there  was  nothing  base  or  small 
Or  craven  in  his  soul's  broad  plan  ; 

Forgiving  all  things  personal, 
He  hated  only  wrong  to  man. 


SUMNER.  21 

The  old  traditions  of  his  State, 

• 

The  memories  of  her  great  and  good, 
Took  from  his  life  a  fresher  date, 
And  in  himself  embodied  stood. 

How  felt  the  greed  of  gold  and  place,  • 

The  venal  crew  that  schemed  and  planned, 

The  fine  scorn  of  that  haughty  face, 
The  spurning  of  that  bribeless  hand  ! 

If  than  Rome's  tribunes  statelier 

He  wore  his  senatorial  robe, 
His  lofty  port  was  all  for  her, 

The  one  dear  spot  on  all  the  globe. 

If  to  the  master's  plea  he  gave 

The  vast  contempt  his  manhood  felt, 


22  v          SUMNER. 

He  saw  a  brother  in  the  slave,  — 

•* 

With  man  as  equal  man  he  dealt. 

Proud  was  he  ?  If  his  presence  kept 
Its  grandeur  wheresoe'er  he  trod, 

As  if  from  Plutarch's  gallery  stepped 
The  hero  and  the  demi-god, 

None  failed,  at  least,  to  reach  his  ear, 
Nor  want  nor  woe  appealed  in  vain  ; 

The  homesick  soldier  knew  his  cheer, 
And  blessed  him  from  his  ward  of  pain. 

Safely  his  dearest  friends  may  own 
The  slight  defects  he  never  hid, 

The  surface-blemish  in  the  stone 
Of  the  tall,  stately  pyramid. 


SUMNER.  23 

Suffice  it  that  he  never  brought 
His  conscience  to  the  public  mart  ; 

But  lived  himself  the  truth  he  taught, 

White-souled,  clean-handed,  pure  of  heart. 

What  if  he  felt  the  natural  pride 

Of  power  in  noble  use,  too  true 
With  thin  humilities  to  hide 

The  work  he  did,  the  lore  he  knew  ? 

Was  he  not  just  ?     Was  any  wronged 

By  that  assured  self-estimate  ? 
He  took  but  what  to  him  belonged, 

Unenvious  of  another's  state. 
• 

Well  might  he  heed  the  words  he  spake, 
And  scan  with  care  the  written  page 


24  SUMNER. 

Through  which  he  still  shall  warm  and  wake 
The  hearts  of  men  from  age  to  age. 

Ah  !  who  shall  blame  him  now  because 
He  solaced  thus  his  hours  of  pain  ! 

Should  not  the  o'erworn  thresher  pause, 
And  hold  to  light  his  golden  grain  ? 

No  sense  of  humor  dropped  its  oil 
On  the  hard  ways  his  purpose  went  ; 

Small  play  of  fancy  lightened  toil  ; 
He  spake  alone  the  thing  he  meant. 

He  loved  his  books,  the  Art  that  hints 
A  beauty  veiled  behind  its  own-, 

The  graver's  line,  the  pencil's  tints, 
The  chisel's  shape  evoked  from  stone. 


SUMNER.  25 

He  cherished,  void  of  selfish  ends, 

The  social  courtesies  that  bless 
And  sweeten  life,  and  loved  his  friends 

With  most  unworldly  tenderness. 

But  still  his  tired  eyes  rarely  learned 
The  glad  relief  by  Nature  brought  ; 

Her  mountain  ranges  never  turned 
His  current  of  persistent  thought. 

The  sea  rolled  chorus  to  his  speech 

Three-banked  like  Latium's  tall  trireme, 

With  laboring  oars ;   the  grove  and  beach 
Were  Forum  and  the  Academe. 

The  sensuous  joy  from  all  things  fair 
His  strenuous  bent  of  soul  repressed, 


26  SUMNER. 

And  left  from  youth  to  silvered  hair 
Few  hours  for  pleasure,  none  for  rest. 

For  all  his  life  was  poor  without, 
O  Nature,  make  the  last  amends  ! 

Train  all  thy  flowers  his  grave  about, 
And  make  thy  singing-birds  his  friends  ! 

Revive  again,  thou  summer  rain, 
The  broken  turf  upon  his  bed  ! 

Breathe,  summer  wind,  thy  tenderest  strain 
Of  low,  sweet  music  overhead ! 

With  calm  and  beauty  symbolize 

The  peace  which  follows  long  annoy, 

And  lend  our  earth-bent,  mourning  eyes 
Some  hint  of  his  diviner  joy. 


SUMNER.  27 

For  safe  with  right  and  truth  he  is, 
As  God  lives  he  must  live  alway  ; 

There  is  no  end  for  souls  like  his, 
No  night  for  children  of  the  day  ! 

Nor  cant  nor  poor  solicitudes 

Made  weak  his  life's  great  argument  ; 

Small  leisure  his  for  frames  and  moods 
Who  followed  Duty  where  she  went. 

The  broad,  fair  fields  of  God  he  saw 
Beyond  the  bigot's  narrow  bound  ; 

The  truths  he  moulded  into  law 
In  Christ's  beatitudes  he  found. 

His  State-craft  was  the  Golden  Rule, 
His  right  of  vote  a  sacred  trust ; 


28  SUMNER. 

Clear,  over  threat  and  ridicule, 
All  heard  his  challenge:  "Is  it  just?" 

And  when  the  hour  supreme  had  come, 
Not  for  himself  a  thought  he  gave ; 

In  that  last  pang  of  martyrdom, 

His  care  was  for  the  half-freed  slave. 

Not  vainly  dusky  hands  upbore, 

In  prayer,  the  passing  soul  to  heaven 

Whose  mercy  to  His  suffering  poor 
Was  service  to  the  Master  given. 

Long  shall  the  good  State's  annals  tell, 
Her  children's  children  long  be  taught, 

How,  praised  or  blamed,  he  guarded  well 
The  trust  he  neither  shunned  nor  sought. 


SUMNER.  29 

If  for  one  moment  turned  thy  face, 
O  Mother,  from  thy  son,  not  long 

He  waited  calmly  in  his  place 

The  sure  remorse  which  follows  wrong. 

Forgiven  be  the  State  he  loved 

The  one  brief  lapse,  the  single  blot  ; 

Forgotten  be  the  stain  removed, 
Her  righted  record  shows  it  not ! 

The  lifted  sword  above  her  shield 

With  jealous  care  shall  guard  his  fame  ; 

The  pine-tree  on  her  ancient  field 

To  all  the  winds  shall  speak  his  name. 

The  marble  image  of  her  son 

Her  loving  hands  shall  yearly  crown, 


30  SUMNER. 

And  from  her  pictured  Pantheon 
•His  grand,  majestic  face  look  down. 

O  State  so  passing  rich  before, 

Who  now  shall  doubt  thy  highest  claim  ? 
The  world  that  counts  thy  jewels  o'er 

Shall  longest  pause  at  SUMMER'S  name ! 


HAZEL    BLOSSOMS. 


THE    PRAYER   OF   AGASSIZ. 

/^\N  the  isle  of  Penikese, 

Ringed  about  by  sapphire  seas, 
Fanned  by  breezes  salt  and  cool, 
Stood  the  Master  with  his  school. 
Over  sails  that  not  in  vain 
Wooed  the  west-wind's  steady  strain, 
Line  of  coast  that  low  and  far 
Stretched  its  undulating  bar, 

Wings  aslant  along  the  rim 

i 
Of  the  waves  they  stooped  to  skim, 

Rock  and  isle  and  glistening  bay, 
Fell  the  beautiful  white  day. 


34  THE  PRAYER  OF  AGASSIZ. 

• 
Said  the  Master  to  the  youth  : 

"  We  have  come  in  search  of  truth, 

Trying  with  uncertain  key 

Door  by  door  of  mystery  ; 

We  are  reaching,  through  His  laws, 

To  the  garment-hern  of  Cause, 

Him,  the  endless,  unbegun, 

The  Unnamable,  the  One 

Light  of  all  our  light  the  Source, 

Life  of  life,  and  Force  of  force. 

As  with  fingers  of  the  blind, 

We  are  groping  here  to  find 

What  the  hieroglyphics  mean 

Of  the  Unseen  in  the  seen, 

What  the  Thought  which  underlies 

Nature's  masking  and  disguise, 

What  it  is  that  hides  beneath 


THE   PRAYER   OF  AGASSIZ.  35 

Blight  and  bloom  and  birth  and  death. 

By  past  efforts  unavailing, 

Doubt  and  error,  loss  and  failing, 

Of  our  weakness  made  aware, 

On  the  threshold  of  our  task 

Let  us  light  and  guidance  ask, 

Let  us  pause  in  silent  prayer ! " 

Then,  the  Master  in  his  place 
Bowed  his  head  a  little  space, 
And  the  leaves  by  soft  airs  stirred, 
Lapse  of  wave  and  cry  of  bird 
Left  the  solemn  hush  unbroken 
Of  that  wordless  prayer  unspoken, 
While  its  wish,  on  earth  unsaid, 
Rose  to  heaven  interpreted. 
As,  in  life's  best  hours,  we  hear    . 


36  THE  PRAYER  OF  AGASSIZ. 

By  the  spirit's  finer  ear 
His  low  voice  within  us,  thus 
The  All-Father  heareth  us  ; 
And  his  holy  ear  we  pain 
With  our  noisy  words  and  vain. 
Not  for  Him  our  violence 
Storming  at  the  gates  of  sense, 
His  the  primal  language,  his 
The  eternal  silences ! 

Even  the  careless  heart  was  moved, 
And  the  doubting  gave  assent, 
With  a  gesture  reverent, 
To  the  Master  well-beloved. 
As  thin  mists  are  glorified 
By  the  light  they  cannot  hide, 
All  who  gazed  upon  him  saw, 


THE   PRAYER  OF  AGASSIZ.  37 

Through  its  veil  of  tender  awe, 
How  his  face  was  still  uplit 
By  the  old  sweet  look  of  it, 
Hopeful,  trustful,  full  of  cheer, 
And  the  love  that  casts  out  fear. 
Who  the  secret  may  declare 
Of  that  brief,  unuttered  prayer  ? 
Did  the  shade  before  him  come 
Of  th'  inevitable  doom, 
Of  the  end  of  earth  so  near, 
And  Eternity's  new  year? 

In  the  lap  of  sheltering  seas 
Rests  the  isle  of  Penikese  ; 
But  the  lord  of  the  domain 
Comes  not  to  his  own  again  : 
Where  the  eyes  that  follow  fail, 


38  THE   PRAYER   OF  AGASSIZ. 

On  a  vaster  sea  his  sail 
Drifts  beyond  our  beck  and  hail. 
Other  lips  within  its  bound 
Shall  the  laws  of  life  expound  ; 
Other  eyes  from  rock  and  shell 
Read  the  world's  old  riddles  well  : 
But  when  breezes  light  and  bland 
Blow  from  Summer's  blossomed  land, 
When  the  air  is  glad  with  wings, 
And  the  blithe  song-sparrow  sings, 
Many  an  eye  with  his  still  face 
Shall  the  living  ones  displace, 
Many  an  ear  the  word  shall  seek 
He  alone  could  fitly  speak. 
And  one  name  fore  verm  ore 
Shall  be  uttered  o'er  and  o'er 
By  the  waves  that  kiss  the  shore, 


THE  PRAYER   OF  AGASSIZ.  39 

By  the  curlew's  whistle  sent 
Down  the  cool,  sea-scented  air; 
In  all  voices  known  to  her, 
Nature  owns  her  worshipper, 
Half  in  triumph,  half  lament. 
Thither  Love  shall  tearful  turn, 
Friendship  pause  uncovered  there, 
And  the  wisest  reverence  learn 
From  the  Master's  silent  prayer. 


THE   FRIEND'S   BURIAL. 

TV  /TY  thoughts  are  all  in  yonder  town, 

Where,  wept  by  many  tears, 
To-day  my  mother's  friend  lays  down 
The  burden  of  her  years. 

True  as  in  life,  no  poor  disguise 

• 

Of  death  with  her  is  seen, 
And  on  her  simple  casket  lies 
No  wreath  of  bloom  and  green. 

O,  not  for  her  the  florist's  art, 
The  mocking  weeds  of  woe, 


THE   FRIEND'S   BURIAL.  41 

Dear  memories  in  each  mourner's  heart 
Like  heaven's  white  lilies  blow. 

And  all  about  the  softening  air 

Of  new-born  sweetness  tells, 
And  the  ungathered  May-flowers  wear 

The  tints  of  ocean  shells. 

The  old,  assuring  miracle 

Is  fresh  as  heretofore  ; 
And  earth  takes  up  its  parable 

Of  life  from  death  once  more. 

Here  organ-swell  and  church-bell  toll 

Methinks  but  discord  were, — 
The  prayerful  silence  of  the  soul 

Is  best  befitting  her. 


42  THE   FRIEND'S   BURIAL. 

No  sound  should  break  the  quietude 
Alike  of  earth  and.  sky  ;  — 

O  wandering  wind  in  Seabrook  wood, 
Breathe  but  a  half-heard  sigh! 

Sing  softly,  spring-bird,  for  her  sake ; 

. 
And  thou  not  distant  sea,       j 

Lapse  lightly  as  if  Jesus  spake, 
And  thou  wert  Galilee  ! 

For  all  her  quiet  life  flowed  on 
As  meadow  streamlets  flow, 

Where  fresher  green  reveals  alone 
The  noiseless  ways  they  go. 

From  her  loved  place  of  prayer  I  see 
The  plain-robed  mourners  pass, 


THE   FRIEND'S   BURIAL.  43 

With  slow  feet  treading  reverently 

« 
The  graveyard's  springing  grass. 

Make  room,  O  mourning  ones,  for  me, 
Where,  like  the  friends  of  Paul, 

That  you  no  more  her  face  shall  see 
You  sorrow  most  of  all. 

Her  path  shall  brighten  more  and  more 

Unto  the  perfect  day ; 
She  cannot  fail  of  peace  who  bore 

Such  peace  with  her  away. 

O  sweet,  calm  face  that  seemed  to  wear 

The  look  of  sins  forgiven  ! 
O  voice  of  prayer  that  seemed  to  bear 

Our  own  needs  up  to  heaven  ! 


44  THE   FRIEND'S   BURIAL. 

How  reverent  in  our  midst  she  stood, 
Or  knelt  in  grateful  praise  ! 

What  grace  of  Christian  womanhood 
Was  in  her  household  ways  ! 

For  still  her  holy  living  meant 

No  duty  left  undone  ; 
The  heavenly  and  the  human  blent 

Their  kindred  loves  in  one. 

And  if  her  life  small  leisure  found 
For  feasting  ear  and  eye, 

And  Pleasure,  on  her  daily  round, 
She  passed  unpausing  by, 

Yet  with  her  went  a  secret  sense 
Of  all  things  sweet  and  fair, 


THE   FRIEND'S   BURIAL.  45 

And  Beauty's  gracious  providence 
Refreshed  her  unaware.  « 

She  kejDt  her  line  of  rectitude 

With  love's  unconscious  ease  ; 
Her  kindly  instincts  understood 

All  gentle  courtesies. 

An  inborn  charm  of  graciousness 
Made  sweet  her  smile  and  tone, 

And  glorified  her  farm-wife  dress 
With  beauty  not  its  own. 

« 

The  dear  Lord's  best  interpreters 

Are  humble  human  souls  ; 
The  Gospel  of  a  life  like  hers 

Is  more  than  books  or  scrolls. 


46  THE   FRIEND'S   BURIAL. 

From  scheme  and  creed  the  light  goes  out, 

TJie  saintly  fact  survives ; 
The  blessed  Master  none  can  doubt 

Revealed  in  holy  lives. 


JOHN    UNDERHILL. 

A     SCORE  of  years  had  come  and  gone 

Since  the  Pilgrims  landed  on  Plymouth  stone, 
When  Captain  Underbill,  bearing  scars 
From  Indian  ambush  and  Flemish  wars, 
Left  three-hilled  Boston  and  wandered  down, 
East  by  north,  to  Cocheco  town. 

With  Vane  the  younger,  in  counsel  sweet 
He  had  sat  at  Anna  Hutch inson's  feet, 
And,  when  the  bolt  of  banishment  fell 
On  the  head  of  his  saintly  oracle, 
He  had  shared  her  ill  as  her  good  report, 
And  braved  the  wrath  of  the  General  Court. 


48  JOHN    UNDERHILL. 

He  shook  from  his  feet  as  he  rode  away 

The  dust  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay. 

The  world  might  bless  and  the  world  might  ban 

What  did  it  matter  the  perfect  man, 

To  whom  the  freedom  of  earth  was  given, 

Proof  against  sin,  and  sure  of  heaven  ? 

He  cheered  his  heart  as  he  rode  along 
With  screed  of  Scripture  and  holy  song, 
Or  thought  how  he  rode  with  his  lances  free 
By  the  Lower  Rhine  and  the  Zuyder-Zee, 
Till  his  wood-path  grew  to  a  trodden  road, 
And  Hilton  Point  in  the  distance  showed. 

He  saw  the  church  with  the  block-house  nigh, 
The  two  fair  rivers,  the  flakes  thereby, 
And,  tacking  to  windward,  low  and  crank, 


JOHN   UNDERBILL.  49 

The  little  shallop  from  Strawberry  Bank ; 
And  he  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  looked  abroad 
Over  land  and  water,  and  praised  the  Lord. 

Goodly  and  stately  and  grave  to  see, 

Into  the  clearing's  space  rode  he, 

With  the  sun  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword  in  sheath, 

And  his  silver  buckles  and  spurs  beneath, 

And  the  settlers  welcomed  him,  one  and  all, 

From  swift  Quampeagan  to  Gonic  Fall. 

And  he  said  to  the  elders  :  "  Lo,  I  come 

As  the  way  seemed  open  to  seek  a  home. 

Somewhat  the  Lord  hath  wrought  by  my  hands 

In  the  Narragansett  and  Netherlands, 

And  if  here  ye  have  work  for  a  Christian  man, 

I  will  tarry,  and  serve  ye  as  best  I  can. 


JOHN   UNDERHILL. 

"  I  boast  not  of  gifts,  but  fain  would  own 

The  wonderful  favor  God  hath  shown, 

The  special  mercy  vouchsafed  one  day 

On  the  shore  of  Narragansett  Bay, 

As  I  sat,  with  my  pipe,  from  the  camp  aside, 

And  mused  like  Isaac  at  eventide. 

"  A  sudden  sweetness,  of  peace  I  found, 
A  garment  of  gladness  wrapped  me  round  ; 
I  felt  from  the  law  of  works  released, 
The  strife  of  the  flesh  and  spirit  ceased, 
My  faith  to  a  full  assurance  grew, 
And  all  I  had  hoped  for  myself  I  knew. 

"  Now,  as  God  appointeth,  I  keep  my  way, 
I  shall  not  stumble,  I  shall  not  stray  ; 
He  hath  taken  away  my  fig-leaf  dress, 


JOHN   UNDERHILL.  51 

I  wear  the  robe  of  his  righteousness  ; 
And  the  shafts  of  Satan  no  more  avail 
Than  Pequot  arrows  on  Christian  mail." 

"  Tarry  with  us,"  the  settlers  cried, 
"  Thou  man  of  God,  as  our  ruler  and  guide." 
And  Captain  Underhill  bowed  his  head. 
"  The  will  of  the  Lord  be  done  !  "  he  said. 
And  the  morrow  beheld  him  sitting  down 
In  the  ruler's  seat  in  Cocheco  town. 

And  he  judged  therein  as  a  just  man  should  ; 
His  words  were  wise  and  his  rule  was  good  ; 
He  coveted  not  his  neighbor's  land, 
From  the  holding  of  bribes  he  shook  his  hand  ; 
And  through  the  camps  of  the  heathen  ran 
A  wholesome  fear  of  the  valiant  man. 


52  JOHN   UNDERHILL. 

But  the  heart  is  deceitful,  the  good  Book  saith, 
And  life  hath  ever  a  savor  of  death. 
Through  hymns  of  triumph  the  tempter  calls, 
And  whoso  thinketh  he  standeth  falls. 
Alas  !  ere  their  round  the  seasons  ran, 
There  was  grief  in  the  soul  of  the  saintly  man. 

The  tempter's  arrows  that  rarely  fail 

Had  found  the  joints  of  his  spiritual  mail  ; 

And  men  took  note  of  his  gloomy  air, 

The  shame  in  his  eye,  the  halt  in  his  prayer, 

The  signs  of  a  battle  lost  within, 

The  pain  of  a  soul  in  the  coils  of  sin. 

Then  a  whisper  of  scandal  linked  his  name 
With  broken  vows  and  a  life  of  blame  ; 
And  the  people  looked  askance  on  him 


JOHN   UNDERHILL.  53 

As  he  walked  among  them  sullen  and  grim, 

111  at  ease,  and  bitter  of  word, 

And  prompt  of  quarrel  with  hand  or  sword. 

None  knew  how,  with  prayer  and  fasting  still, 
He  strove  in  the  bonds  of  his  evil  will  ; 
But  he  shook  himself  like  Samson  at  length, 
And  girded  anew  his  loins  of  strength, 
And  bade  the  crier  g*o  up  and  down 
And  call  together  the  wondering  town. 

Jeer  and  murmur  and  shaking  of  head 
Ceased  as  he  rose  in  his  place  and  said  : 
"  Men,  brethren,  and  fathers,  well  ye  know 
How  I  came  among  you  a  year  ago, 
Strong  in  the  faith  that  my  soul  was  freed 
From  sin  of  feeling,  or  thought,  or  deed. 


54  JOHN   UNDERHILL. 

"  I  have  sinned,  I  own  it  with  grief  and  shame, 
But  not  with  a  lie  on  my  lips  I  came. 
In  my  blindness  I  verily  thought  my  heart 
Swept  and  garnished  in  every  part. 

He  chargeth  His  angels  with  folly ;  He  sees 

» 

The  heavens  unclean.     Was  I  more  than  these  ? 

"  I  urge  no  plea.     At  your  feet  I  lay 
The  trust  you  gave  me,  and  go  my  way. 
Hate  me  or  pity  me,  as  you  will, 
The  Lord  will  have  mercy  on  sinners  still  ; 
And  I,  who  am  chiefest,  say  to  all, 

Watch  and  pray,  lest  ye  also  fall." 

<• 

No  voice  made  answer  :  a  sob  so  low 
That  only  his  quickened  ear  could  know 
Smote  his  heart  with  a  bitter  pain, 


JOHN   IfNDERHILL.  55 

As  into  the  forest  he  rode  again, 

And  the  veil  of  its  oaken  leaves  shut  down 

On  his  latest  glimpse  of  Cocheco  town. 

Crystal-clear  on  the  man  of  sin 
The  streams  flashed  up,  and  the  sky  shone  in  ; 
On  his  cheek  of  fever  the  cool  wind  blew, 
The  leaves  dropped  on  him  their  tears  of  dew, 
And  angels  of  God,  in  the  pure,  sweet  guise 
Of  flowers,  looked  on  him  with  sad  surprise. 

Was  his  ear  at  fault  that  brook  and  breeze 
Sang  in  their  saddest  of  minor  keys  ? 
What  was  it  the  mournful  wood-thrush  said  ? 
What  whispered  the  pine-trees  overhead  ? 
Did  he  hear  the  Voice  on  his  lonely  way 
That  Adam  heard  in  the  cool  of  day  ? 


56  JOHN   UNDERHILL. 

Into  the  desert  alone  rode  he, 

Alone  with  the  Infinite  Purity  ; 

And,  bowing  his  soul  to  its  tender  rebuke, 

As  Peter  did  to  the  Master's  look, 

He  measured  his  path  with  prayers  of  pain 

For  peace  with  God  and  nature  again. 

And  in  after  years  to  Cocheco  came 

The  bruit  of  a  once  familiar  name  ; 

How  among  the  Dutch  of  New  Netherlands, 

From  wild  Danskamer  to  Haarlem  sands, 

A  penitent  soldier  preached  the  Word, 

And  smote  the  heathen  with  Gideon's  sword  ! 

And  the  heart  of  Boston  was  glad  to  hear 
How  he  harried  the  foe  on  the  long  frontier, 
And  heaped  on  the  land  against  him  barred 


JOHN   UNDERHILL.  57 

The  coals  of  his  generous  watch  and  ward. 
Frailest  and  bravest !  the  Bay  State  still 
Counts  with  her  worthies  John  Underbill. 


3* 


IN    QUEST. 

T  T  AVE  I  not  voyaged,  friend  beloved,  with  tbee 

On  the  great  waters  of  the  unsounded  sea, 
Momently  listening  with  suspended  oar 
For  the  low  rote  of  waves  upon  a  shore 
Changeless  as  heaven,  where  never  fog-cloud  drifts 
Over  its  windless  woods,  nor  mirage  lifts 
The  steadfast  hills  ;  where  never  birds  of  doubt 
Sing  to  mislead,  and  every  dream  dies  out, 
And  the  dark  riddles  which  perplex  us  here 
In  the  sharp  solvent  of  its  light  are  clear  ? 
Thou   knowest   how  vain   our  quest ;   how,  soon  or 

late, 
The  baffling  tides  and  circles  of  debate 


IN   QUEST.  59 

Swept  back  our  bark  unto  its  starting-place, 
Where,  looking  forth  upon  the  blank,  gray  space, 
And  round  about  us  seeing,  with  sad  eyes, 
The  same  old  difficult  hills  and  cloud-cold  skies, 
We  said  :  "  This  outward  search  availeth  not 
To  find  Him.     He  is  farther  than  we  thought, 
Or,  haply,  nearer.     To  this  very  spot 
Whereon  we  wait,  this  commonplace  of  home, 
As  to  the*  well  of  Jacob,  He  may  come 
And  tell  us  all  things."     As  I  listened  there, 
Through  the  expectant  silences  of  prayer, 
Somewhat  I  seemed  to  hear,  which  hath  to  me 
Been  hope,  strength,  comfort,  and  I  give  it  thee. 

"  The  riddle  of  the  world  is  understood 
Only  by  him  who  feels  that   God  is  good, 
As  only  he  can  feel  who  makes  his  love 


60  IN   QUEST. 

The  ladder  of  his  faith,  and  climbs  above  t 

On  th'  rounds  of  his  best  instincts  ;   draws  no  line 

Between  mere  human  goodness  and  divine, 

But,  judging  God  by  what  in  him  is  best, 

With  a  child's  trust  leans  on  a  Father's  breast, 

And  hears  unmoved  the  old  creeds  babble  still 

Of  kingly  power  and  dread  caprice  of  will, 

Chary  of  blessing,  prodigal  of  curse, 

The  pitiless  doomsman  of  the  universe.    • 

Can  Hatred  ask  for  love  ?     Can  Selfishness 

Invite  to  self-denial  ?     Is  He  less 

Than  man  in  kindly  dealing  ?     Can   He  break 

His  own  great  law  of  fatherhood,  forsake 

And  curse  His  children  ?     Not  for  earth  and  heaven 

Can  separate  tables  of  the  law  be  given. 

No  rule  can  bind  which  He  himself  denies  ; 

The  truths  of  time  are  not  eternal  lies." 


IN   QUEST.  6l 

So  heard  I  ;  and  .the  chaos  round  me  spread 
To  light  and  order  grew  ;  and,  "  Lord,"  I  said, 
"  Our  sins  are  our  tormentors,  worst  of  all 
Felt  in  distrustful  shame  that  dares  not  call 
Upon  Thee  as  our  Father.     We  have  set 
A  strange  god  up,  but  Thou  remainest  yet. 

All  that  I  feel  of  pity  Thou  hast  known 

• 
Before  I  was  ;  my  best  is  all  Thy  own. 

From  Thy  great  heart  of  goodness  mine  but  drew 
Wishes  and  prayers  ;  but  Thou,  O  Lord,  wilt  do, 
In  Thy  own  time,  by  ways  I  cannot  see, 
All  that  I  feel  when  I  am  nearest  Thee  ! " 


A    SEA    DREAM. 

\1{  7E  saw  the  slow  tides  go  and  come, 

The  curving  surf-lines  lightly  drawn, 
The  gray  rocks  touched  with  tender  bloom 
Beneath  the  fresh-blown  rose  of  dawn. 

We  saw  in  richer  sunsets  lost 

The  sombre  pomp  of  showery  noons  ; 

And  signalled  spectral  sails  that  crossed 
The  weird,  low  light  of  rising  moons. 

On  stormy  eves  from  cliff  and  head 

We  saw  the  white  spray  tossed  and  spurned ; 

While  over  all,  in  gold  and  red, 

Its  face  of  fire  the  lighthouse  turned. 


A   SEA  DREAM.  63 

The  rail-car  brought  its  daily  crowds, 

Half  curious,  half  indifferent, 

«• 
Like  passing  sails  or  floating  clouds, 

We  saw  them  as  they  came  and  went. 

But,  one  calm  morning,  as  we  lay 
And  watched  the  mirage-lifted  wall 

Of  coast,  across  the  dreamy  bay, 
And  heard  afar  the  curlew  call, 

And  nearer  voices,  wild  or  tame, 

* 
Of  airy  flock  and  childish  throng, 

Up  from  the  water's  edge  there  came 
Faint  snatches  of  familiar  song. 

Careless  we  heard  the  singer's  choice 
Of  old  and  common  airs  ;  at  last 


64  A   SEA   DREAM. 

» 

The  tender  pathos  of  his  voice 
In  one  low  chanson  held  us  fast. 

A  song  that  mingled  joy  and  pain, 
And  memories  old  and  sadly  sweet ; 

While,  timing  to  its  minor  strain, 
The  waves  in  lapsing  cadence  beat. 


The  waves  are  glad  in  breeze  and  sun  ; 
The  rocks  are  fringed  with  foam  ; 

L  walk  once  more  a  haunted  shore, 

• 

A  stranger,  yet  at  home, — 
A  land  of  dreams  I  roam. 

Is  this  the  wind,  the  soft  sea-wind 

That  stirred  thy  locks  of  brown  ? 
Are  these  the  rocks  whose  mosses  knew 


A   SEA   DREAM.  65 

The  trail  of  thy  light  gown, 
Where  boy 'and  girl  sat  down  ? 

I  see  the  gray  fort's  broken  wall, 

The  boats  that  rock  below  ; 
And,  out  at  sea,  the  passing  sails 

We  saw  so  long  ago 

Rose-red  in  morning's  glow. 

The  freshness  of  the  early  time 

On  every  breeze  is  blown  ; 
As  glad  the  sea,  as  blue  the  sky, — 

The  change  is  ours  alone  ; 

The  saddest  is  my  own. 

A  stranger  now,  a  world-worn  man, 

Is  he  who  bears  my  name  ; 
But  thou,  methinks,  whose  mortal  life 

£ 


66  A   SEA  DREAM. 

Immortal  youth  became, 
Art  evermore  the  saVne. 

Thou  art  not  here,  thou  art  not  there, 
Thy  place  I  cannot  see  ; 

I  only  know  that  where  thou  art 
The  blessed  angels  be, 
And  heaven  is  glad  for  thee. 

Forgive  me  if  the  evil  years 
Have  left  on  me  their  sign ; 

Wash  out,  O  soul  so  beautiful, 
The  many  stains  of  mine 
In  tears  of  love  divine ! 

I  could  not  look  on  thee  and  live, 

If  thou  wert  by  my  side ; 
» 

The  vision  of  a  shining  one, 


A  SEA   DREAM.  6/ 

The  white  and  heavenly  bride, 
Is  well  to  me  denied. 

But  turn  to  me  thy  dear  girl-face 

Without  the  angel's  crown, 
The  wedded  roses  of  thy  lips, 

Thy  loose  hair  rippling  down 

In  waves  of  golden  brown. 

Look  forth  once  more  through  space  and  time, 

And  let  thy  sweet  shade  fall 
In  tenderest  grace  of  soul  and  form 

On  memory's  frescoed  wall. 

A  shadow,  and  yet  all ! 

Draw  near,  more  near,  forever  dear ! 

Where'er  I  rest  or  roam, 
Or  in  the  city's  crowded  streets, 


68  A   SEA   DREAM. 

Or  by  the  blown  sea  foam, 
The  thought  of  thee  is  home  ! 


At  breakfast  hour  the  singer  read 
The  city  news,  with  comment  wise, 

Like  one  who  felt  the  pulse  of  trade 
Beneath  his  finger  fall  and  rise. 

His  look,  his  air,  his  curt  speech,  told 
The  man  of  action,  not  of  books, 

To  whom  the  corners  made  in  gold 

And  stocks  were  more  than  seaside  nooks. 

Of  life  beneath  the  life  confessed 
His  song  had  hinted  unawares ; 

Of  flowers  in  traffic's  ledgers  pressed, 
Of  human  hearts  in  bulls  and  bears. 


A   SEA   DREAM.  69 

But  eyes  in  vain  were  turned  to  watch 
That  face  so  hard  and  shrewd  and  strong; 

And  ears  in  vain  grew  sharp  to  catch 
The  meaning  of  that  morning  song. 

In  vain  some  sweet-voiced  querist  sought 
To  sound  him,  leaving  as  she  came  ; 

Her  baited  album  only  caught 
A  common,  unromantic  name. 

No  word  betrayed  the  mystery  fine, 
That  trembled  on  the  singer's  tongue ; 

He  came  and  went,  and  left  no  sign 
Behind  him  save  the  song  he  sung. 


A    MYSTERY. 

/"T^HE  river  hemmed  with  leaning  trees 

Wound  through  its  meadows  green  ; 
A  low,  blue  line  of  mountains  showed 

The  open  pines  between. 

/ 

One  sharp,  tall  peak  above  them  all 

Clear  into  sunlight  sprang  : 
I  saw  the  river  of  my  dreams, 

The  mountains  that  I  sang  ! 

No  clew  of  memory  led  me  on, 
But  well  the  ways  I  knew  ; 


A   MYSTERY.  71 

A  feeling  of  familiar  things 
With  every  footstep  grew. 

Not  otherwise  above  its  crag 

Could  lean  the  blasted  pine  ; 
Not  otherwise  the  maple  hold 

Aloft  its  red  ensign. 

So  up  the  long  and  shorn  foot-hills 
The  mountain  road  should  creep  ; 

'So,  green  and  low,  the  meadow  fold 
Its  red-haired  kine  asleep. 

The  river  wound  as  it  should  wind  ; 

Their  place  the  mountains  took  ; 
The  white  torn  fringes  of  their  clouds 

Wore  no  unwonted  look; 


A  MYSTERY. 

Yet  ne'er  before  that  river's  rim 
Was  pressed  by  feet  of  mine, 

Never  before  mine  eyes  had  crossed 
That  broken  mountain  line. 

A  presence,  strange  at  once  and  known, 
Walked  with  me  as  my  guide ; 

The  skirts  of  some  forgotten  life 
Trailed  noiseless  at  my  side. 

Was  it  a  dim-remembered  dream  ? 

Or  glimpse  through  aeons  old  ? 
The  secret  which  the  mountains  kept 

The  river  never  told. 

But  from  the  vision  ere  it  passed 
A  tender  hope  I  drew, 


A   MYSTERY.  73 

And,  pleasant  as  a  dawn  of  spring, 
The  thought  within  me  grew, 

That  love  would  temper  every  change, 

And  soften  all  surprise, 
And,  misty  with  the  dreams  of  earth, 

The  hills  of  Heaven  arise. 


CONDUCTOR    BRADLEY. 
CONDUCTOR   BRADLEY,    (always    may   his 

\~s 

name 

Be  said  with  reverence!)  as  the  swift  doom  came, 
Smitten  to  death,  a  crushed  and  mangled  frame, 

Sank,  with  the  brake  he  grasped  just  where  he  stood 

To  do  the  utmost  that  a  brave  man  could, 

« 

And  die,  if  needful,  as  a  true  man  should. 

Men  stooped  above  him  ;  women  dropped  their  tears 
On  that  poor  wreck  beyond  all  hopes  or  fears, 
Lost  in  the  strength  and  glory  of  his  years. 


CONDUCTOR   BRADLEY.  75 

What  heard  they  ?    Lo !    the  ghastly  lips  of  pain, 
Dead  to  all  thought  save  duty's,  moved  again  : 
"  Put  out  the  signals  for  the  other  train  ! " 

No  nobler  utterance  since  the  world  began 
From  lips  of  saint  or  martyr  ever  ran, 
Electric,  through  the  sympathies  of  man. 

Ah  me  !   how  poor  and  noteless  seem  to  this 
The  sick-bed  dramas  of  self-consciousness, 
Our  sensual  fears  of  pain  and  hopes  of  bliss ! 

O,  grand,  supreme  endeavor  !     Not  in  vain 
That  last  brave  act  of  failing  tongue  and  brain  ! 
Freighted  with  life  the  downward  rushing  train,' 

Following  the  wrecked  one,  as  wave  follows  wave, 


76  CONDUCTOR  BRADLEY. 

Obeyed  the  warning  which  the  dead  lips  gave. 
Others  he  saved,  himself  he  could  not  save. 

Nay,  the  lost  life  was  saved.     He  is  not  dead 
Who  in  his  record  still  the  earth  shall  tread 
With  God's  clear  aureole  shining  round  his  head. 

We  bow  as  in  the  dust,  with  all  our  pride 
Of  virtue  dwarfed  the  noble  deed  beside. 
God  give  us  grace  to  live  as  Bradley  died  ! 


CHILD-SONGS. 

OTILL  linger  in  our  noon  of  time 

And  on  our  Saxon  tongue 
The  echoes  of  the*  home-born  hymns 
The  Aryan  mothers  sung. 

And  childhood  had  its  litanies 

9 

In  every  age  and  clime  ; 
The  earliest  cradles  of  the  race 
Were  rocked  to  poet's  rhyme. 

Nor  sky,  nor  wave,  nor  tree,  nor  flower, 
Nor  green  earth's  virgin  sod, 


78  CHILD-SONGS. 

So  moved  the  singer's  heart  of  old 
As  these  small  ones  of  God. 

The  mystery  of  unfolding  life 
Was  more  than  dawning  morn, 

Than  opening  flower  or  crescent  moon 
The  human  soul  new-born  ! 

• 

And  still  to  childhood's  sweet  appeal 
The  heart  of  genius  turns, 

And  more  than  all  the  sages  teach 

• 
From  lisping  voices  learns,  - 

The  voices  loved  of  him  who  sang, 
Where  Tweed  and  Teviot  glide, 

That  sound  to-day  on  all  the  winds 
That  blow  from  Rydal-side,  — 


CHILD-SONGS.  79 

Heard  in  the  Teuton's  household  songs, 

And  folk-lore  of  the  Finn, 
Where'er  to  holy  Christmas  hearths 

The  Christ-child  enters  in  ! 

Before  life's  sweetest  mystery  still 
The  heart  in  reverence  kneels  ; 

The  wonder  of  the  primal  birth 
The  latest  mother  feels. 

We  need  love's  tender  lessons  taught 

As  only  weakness  can  ; 
God  hath  his  small  interpreters  ; 

The  child  must  teach  the  man. 

We  wander  wide  through  evil  years, 
Our  eyes  of  faith  grow  dim  ; 


80  CHILD-SONGS. 

But  he  is  freshest  from  His  hands 
And  nearest  unto  Him  ! 

And  haply,  pleading  long  with  Him 
For  sin-sick  hearts  and  cold, 

The  angels  of  our  childhood  still 
The  Father's  face  behold. 

Of  such  the  kingdom  !  —  Teach  thou  us, 

O  Master  most  divine, 
To  feel  the  deep  significance 

Of  these  wise  words  of  thine  ! 

The  haughty  eye  shall  seek  in  vain 

What  innocence  beholds  ; 
No  cunning  finds  the  key  of  heaven, 

No  strength  its  gate  unfolds. 


CHILD-SONGS.  8 1 

Alone  to  guilelessness  and  love 

That  gate  shall  open  fall ; 
The  mind  of  pride  is  nothingness 

The  childlike  heart  is  all  ! 


THE  GOLDEN  WEDDING  OF  LONG- 
WOOD. 

TT  TITH  fifty  years  between  you  and  your  well- 
kept  wedding  vow, 

The   Golden    Age,   old    friends   of   mine,   is   not   a 
fable  now. 

And,  sweet  as  has   life's  vintage   been    through   all 

your  pleasant  past, 
Still,  as  at  Cana's  marriage-feast,  the   best  wine   is 

the  last ! 

Again   before  me,  with   your  names,  fair   Chester's 
landscape  comes, 


THE  GOLDEN   WEDDING   OF   LONGWOOD.         83 

Its  meadows,  woods,  and   ample  barns,  and  quaint, 
stone-builded  homes. 

The    smooth-shorn    vales,    the    wheaten    slopes,  the 

boscage  green  and  soft, 
Of   which    their    poet,  sings    so  well  from  towered 

Cedarcroft. 

And   lo  !  from  all  the  country-side  come  neighbors, 

kith  and  kin  ; 
From    city,    hamlet,    farm-house    old,    the    wedding 

guests  come  in. 

And  they  who,  without  scrip  or  purse,  mob-hunted, 

travel- worn, 
In  Freedom's  age  of  martyrs  came,  as  victors  now 

return. 


84         THE   GOLDEN   WEDDING   OF   LONGWOOD. 

Older   and   slower,  yet   the   same,  files   in  the  long 

array, 
And    hearts    are   light    and   eyes    are  glad,  though 

heads  are  badger-gray. 

The  fire-tried  men  of  Thirty-eight  who  saw  with 
me  the  fall, 

Midst  roaring  flames  and  shouting  mob,  of  Penn- 
sylvania Hall ; 

And  they  of  Lancaster  who   turned  the  cheeks  of 

tyrants  pale, 
Singing  of  freedom   through   the   grates  of  Moya- 

mensing  jail ! 

And  haply  with  them,  all  unseen,  old  comrades, 
gone  before, 


THE   GOLDEN   WEDDING  OF   LONGWOOD.         85 

Pass,   silently   as    shadows   pass,   within   your  open 

• 

door,  — 

The   eagle   face  of  Lindley  Coates,  brave  Garrett's 

daring  zeal, 
The  Christian  grace  of  Pennock,  the  steadfast  heart 

of  Neal. 

Ah   me  !   beyond   all   power   to  name,  the  worthies 

tried  and  true, 
Grave  men,  fair  women,  youth  and  maid,  pass  by  in 

hushed  review. 

Of  varying  faiths,  a   common    cause  fused  all  their 

hearts  in  one. 
God    give    them    now,  whate'er    their    names,    the 

peace  of  duty  done ! 


86         THE  GOLDEN   WEDDING  OF  LONGWOOD. 

How   gladly   would   I -tread    again   the  pld-remem- 

• 

bered  places, 

Sit  down  beside   your  hearth  once  more   and    look 
in  the  dear  old  faces  ! 

And  thank  you  for  the  lessons  your  fifty  years  are 

teaching, 

For   honest  lives   that   louder   speak   than  half  our 
,    noisy  preaching  ; 

For  your  steady  faith  and  courage  in  that  dark  and 

•»• 

evil  time, 

When   the   Golden    Rule  was  treason,  and   to   feed 
the  hungry,  crime  ; 

For   the    poor    slave's    house   of   refuge    when    the 
hounds  were  on  his  track, 


THE   GOLDEN   WEDDING  OF   LONGWOOD.          8/ 

And    saint    and   sinner,    church    and    state,   joined 
hands  to  send  him  back. 

Blessings  upon  you  !  —  What  you  did  for  each  sad, 

suffering  one, 
So   homeless,  faint,  and   naked,  unto  our  Lord  was 

done  ! 

Fair   fall   on    Kennett's    pleasant   vales   and    Long- 

*     wood's  bowery  ways 

The   mellow   sunset   of   your    lives,   friends   of    my 
early  days. 

May  many  more  of  quiet   years   be   added  to  your 

sum, 
And,  late   at   last,  in  tenderest  love,  the  beckoning 

angel  come. 


88         THE   GOLDEN   WEDDING  OF  LONGWOOD. 

Dear   hearts   are   here,  dear   hearts  are  there,  alike 

below,  above  ; 
Our  friends   are   now  in   either  world,  and   love   is 

sure  of  love. 


KINSMAN. 

DIED     AT     THE    ISLAND'   OF    PANAY    (PHILIPPINE     GROUP), 
AGED    19    YEARS. 

TT  7  HERE  ceaseless  Spring  her  garland  twines, 

As  sweetly  shall  the  loved  one  rest, 
*  As  if  beneath  the  whispering  pines 
And  maple  shadows  of  the  West. 


Ye  mourn,  O  hearts  of  home  !  for  him, 
But,  haply,  mourn  ye  not  alone  ; 

For  him  shall  far-off  eyes  be  dim, 
And  pity  speak  in  tongues  unknown. 

There  needs  no  graven  line  to  give 
The  story  of  his  blameless  youth  ; 


9o 


KINSMAN. 

All  hearts  shall  throb  intuitive, 

And  nature  guess  the  simple  truth. 

The  very  meaning  of  his  name 

Shall  many  a  tender  tribute  win ; 
The  stranger  own  his  sacred  claim, 

And  all  the  world  shall  be  his  kin. 

•    • 

And  therej  as  here,  on  main  and  isle, 
The  dews  of  holy  peace  shall  fall, 

The  same  sweet  heavens  above  him  smile, 
And  God's  dear  love  be  over  all ! 


VESTA. 

/^\  CHRIST  of  God!  whose  life  and  death 

Our  own  have  reconciled, 
Most  quietly,  most  tenderly 

Take  home  thy  star-named  child  ! 

Thy  grace  is  in  her  patient  eyes, 
Thy  words  are  on  her  tongue  $ 

The  very  silence  round  her  seems 
As  if  the  angels  sung. 

Her  smile  is  as  a  listening  child's 
Who  hears  its  mother  call  ; 


92  VESTA. 

The  lilies  of  Thy  perfect  peace 
About  her  pillow  fall. 

She  leans  from  out  our  clinging  arms 
To  rest  herself  in  Thine  ; 

Alone  to  Thee,  dear  Lord,  can  we 
Our  well-beloved  resign ! 

O,  less  for  her  than  for  ourselves 
We  bow  our  heads  and  pray  ; 

Her  setting  star,  like  Bethlehem's, 
To"  Thee  shall  point  the  way  ! 


THE    HEALER. 

TO  A  YOUNG^  PHYSICIAN,  WITH   DORE's    PICTURE   OF    CHRIST 
HEALING   THE    SICK. 

O  O  stood  of  old  the  holy  Christ 
Amidst  the  suffering  throng ; 
With  whom  his  lightest  touch  sufficed 
To  make  the  weakest  strong. 

That  healing  gift  he  lends  to  them 

Who  use  it  in  his  name; 
The  power  that  filled  his  garment's  hem 

Is  evermore  the  same. 

For  lo  !   in  human  hearts  unseen 
The  Healer  dwelleth  still, 


94 


THE    HEALER. 

And  they  who  make  his  temples  clean 
The  best  subserve  his  will. 

• 

The  holiest  task  by  Heaven  decreed, 

* 

An  errand  all  divine, 
The  burden  of  our  common  need 
To  render  less  is  thine. 

The  paths  of  pain  are  thine.     Go  forth 
With  patience,  trust,  and  hope  ; 

The  sufferings  of  a  sin-sick  earth 
Shall  give  thee  ample  scope. 

Beside  the  unveiled  mysteries 
Of  life  and  death  go  stand, 

With  guarded  lips  and  reverent  eyes 
And  pure  of  heart  and  hand. 


THE   HEALER. 


95 


So  shall  thou  be  with  power  endued 

From   Him  who  went  about 
The  Syrian  hillsides  doing  good, 


And  casting  demons  out. 


That  Good  Physician  liveth  yet 
Thy  friend  and  guide  to  be ; 

The  Healer  by  Gennesaret 

Shall  walk  the  rounds  with  thee. 


A   CHRISTMAS   CARMEN. 


OOUND  over  all  waters,  reach  out  from  all  lands, 

The  chorus  of  voices,  the  clasping   of  hands  ; 

Sing  hymns  that  were    sung   by  the   stars    of   the 

morn, 

Sing  songs  of  the  angels  when  Jesus  was  born  ! 
With  glad  jubilations 
Bring  hope  to  the  nations  ! 

The  dark  night  is  ending  and  dawn  has  begun  : 
Rise,  hope  of  the  ages,  arise  like  the  sun, 

All  speech  flow  to  music,  all  hearts  beat  as  one ! 


A  CHRISTMAS   CARMEN.  97 

II. 

Sing  the  bridal  of  nations  !   with  chorals  of  love 
Sing  out  the  war-vulture  and  sing  in  the  dove, 
Till  the  hearts  of  the  peoples  keep  time  in  accord, 
And  the  voice  of  the  world  is  the  voice  of  the  Lord! 

Clasp  hands  of  the  nations 

In  strong  gratulations  : 

The  dark  night  is  ending  and  dawn  has  begun  ; 
Rise,  hope  of  the  ages,  arise  like  the  sun, 

All  speech  flow  to  music,  all  hearts  beat  as  one ! 

in. 

Blow,  bugles  of  battle,  the  marches  of  peace ; 
East,  west,  north,  and    south   let    the    long  quarrel 

cease : 

Sing  the  song  of  great  joy  that  the  angels  began, 
Sing  of  glory  to  God  and  of  good-will  to  man  ! 


98  A  CHRISTMAS  CARMEN. 

Hark  !  joining  in  chorus 

The  heavens  bend  o'er  us  ! 

The  dark  night  is  ending  and  dawn  has  begun  ; 
Rise,  hope  of  the  ages,  arise  like  the  sun, 
All  speech  flow  to  music,  all  hearts  beat  as  one ! 


HYMN 

FOR   THE   OPENING   OF    PLYMOUTH   CHURCH,  ST.    PAUL, 
MINNESOTA. 

A   LL  things  are  Thine  :    no  gift  have  we, 

Lord  of  all  gifts !    to  offer  Thee ; 
And  hence  with  grateful  hearts  to-day, 
Thy  own  before  Thy  feet  we  lay. 


Thy  will  was  in  the  builders'  thought ; 

Thy  hand  unseen  amidst  us  wrought ; 

» 
Through  mortal  motive,  scheme  and  plan, 

Thy  wise  eternal  purpose  ran. 

No  lack  Thy  perfect  fulness  knew  ; 
For  human  needs  and  longings  grew 


IOO  HYMN. 

This  house  of  prayer,  this  home  of  rest, 
In  the  fair  garden  of  the  West. 

In  weakness  and  in  want  we  call 

On  Thee  for  whom  the  heavens  are  small ; 

Thy  glory  is  Thy  children's  good, 

Thy  joy  Thy  tender  Fatherhood. 

O  Father !  deign  these  walls  to  bless  : 
Fill  with  Thy  love  their  emptiness: 
And  let  their  door  a  gateway  be 
To  lead  us  from  ourselves  to  Thee ! 


POEMS 


BY 


ELIZABETH    H.   WHITTIER, 


THE   DREAM    OF   ARGYLE. 
ARTHLY  arms  no  more  uphold  him 


1     > 

On  his  prison's  stony  floor  ; 

Waiting  death  in  his  last  slumber, 
Lies  the  doomed  MacCallum  More. 


And  he  dreams  a  dream  of  boyhood  ; 

Rise  again  his  heathery  hills, 
Sound  again  the  hound's  long  baying, 

Cry  of  moor-fowl,  laugh  of  rills. 

Now  he  stands  amidst  his  clansmen 
In  the  low,  long  banquet-hall, 

Over  grim,  ancestral  armor 
Sees  the  ruddy  firelight  fall. 


IO4  THE  DREAM   OF   ARGYLE. 

Once  again,  with  pulses  beating, 
Hears 'the  wandering  minstrel  tell 

How  Montrose  on  Inverary 

Thief-like  from  his  mountains  fell. 

Down  the  glen,  beyond  the  castle, 
Where  the  linn's  swift  waters  shine, 

Round  the  youthful  heir  of  Argyle 
Shy  feet  glide  and  white  arms  twine. 

Fairest  of  the  rustic  dancers, 

Blue-eyed  Effie  smiles  once  more, 

Bends  to  him  her  snooded  tresses, 
Treads  with  him  the  grassy  floor. 

Now  he  hears  the  pipes  lamenting, 
Harpers  for  his  mother  mourn, 


THE  DREAM   OF  ARGYLE.  105 

Slow,  with  sable  plume  and  pennon, 
To  her  cairn  of  burial  borne. 

Then  anon  his  dreams  are  darker, 

Sounds  of  battle  fill  his  ears, 
And  the  pibroch's  mournful  wailing 

For  his  father's  fall  he  hears. 

Wild  Lochaber's  mountain  echoes 

Wail  in  concert  for  the  dead, 
And  Loch  Awe's  deep  waters  murmur 

For  the  Campbell's  glory  fled ! 

Fierce  and  strong  the  godless  tyrants 

Trample  the  apostate  land, 
While  her  poor  and  faithful  remnant 

Wait  for  the  Avenger's  hand. 

5* 


106  THE  DREAM   OF   ARGYLE. 

Once  again  at  Inverary, 

Years  of  weary  exile  o'er, 
Armed  to  lead  his  scattered  clansmen, 

Stands  the  bold  MacCallum  More. 

Once  again  to  battle  calling 

Sound  the  war-pipes  through  the  glen  ; 
And  the  court-yard  of  Dunstaffnage 

Rings  with  tread  of  armed  men. 

All  is  lost !     The  godless  triumph, 
And  the  faithful  ones  and  true 

From  the  scaffold  and  the  prison 
Covenant  with  God  anew. 

On  the  darkness  of  his  dreaming 
Great  and  sudden  glory  shone  ; 


THE   DREAM   OF  ARGYLE.  IO/ 

Over  bonds  and  death  victorious 
Stands  he  by  the  Father's  throne ! 

From  the  radiant  ranks  of  martyrs 
Notes  of  joy  and  praise  he  hears, 

Songs  of  his  poor  land's  deliverance 
Sounding  from  the  future  years. 

Lo,  he  wakes !  but  airs  celestial 

Bathe  him  in  immortal  rest, 
And  he  sees  with  unsealed  vision 

Scotland's  cause  with  victory  blest. 

Shining  hosts  attend  and  guard  him 

As  he  leaves  his  prison  door ; 
And  to  death  as  to  a  triumph 

Walks  the  great  MacCallum  More! 


LINES 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  DEPARTURE   OF  JOSEPH  STURGE, 

AFTER   HIS   VISIT   TO   THE   ABOLITIONISTS   OF   THE 

UNITED   STATES. 


islands    of  the   sunny  sea!    midst  all  re- 
joicing things, 
No  more   the   wailing   of  the  slave  a  wild  discord- 

ance brings; 
On  the  lifted   brows   of  freemen  the  tropic  breezes 

blow, 

The    mildew   of   the    bondman's   toil    the   land   no 
more  shall  know. 

How   swells   from   those   green  islands,  where   bird 

and  leaf  and  flower 
Are  praising  in  their  own  sweet   way  the  dawn  of 

freedom's  hour, 


LINES.  109 

The  glorious  resurrection  song  from  hearts  rejoic- 
ing poured, 

Thanksgiving  for  the  priceless  gift,  —  man's  regal 
crown  restored  ! 

How  beautiful   through  all  the   green   and   tranquil 

summer  land, 
Uplifted,    as    by    miracle,     the     solemn     churches 

stand  ! 
The  grass  is  trodden  from  the  paths  where  waiting 

freemen  throng, 
Athirst  and  fainting  for  the  cup  of  life  denied  so  long. 

O,    blessed  were  the   feet   of  him   whose    generous 

errand  here 
Was   to   unloose   the   captive's  .chain   and   dry   the 

mourner's  tear ; 


1 10  LINES. 

To  lift  again  the  fallen  ones  a  brother's  robber  hand 
Had   left,  in    pain   and    wretchedness    by   the    way- 
sides of  the  land. 

The  islands  of  the  sea  rejoice ;  the  harvest  an- 
thems rise ; 

The  sower  of  the  seed  must  own  't  is  marvellous  in 
his  eyes ; 

The  old  waste  places  are  rebuilt,  —  the  broken 
walls  restored,  — 

And  the  wilderness  is  blooming  like  the  garden  of 
the  Lord! 

Thanksgiving  for   the    holy   fruit !    should    not    the 

laborer  rest, 
His   earnest   faith  and  works  of  love  have  been  so 

richly  blest  ? 


LINES.  1 1  I 

The  pride  of  all  fair  England  shall  her  ocean  isl- 
ands be, 

And  their  peasantry  with  joyful  hearts  keep  cease- 
less jubilee. 

p 

Rest,  never !   while   his   countrymen   have  trampled 

hearts  to  bleed, 
The  stifled    murmur  of   their   wrongs   his  listening 

ear  shall  heed, 
Where  England's  far   dependencies  her   mighty   not 

wyrcy,  know, 
To   all  the  crushed  and  suffering  there  his  pitying 

love  shall  flow. 

The  friend  of  freedom  everywhere,  how  mourns  he 

for  our  land, 
The  brand  of  whose  hypocrisy  burns  on  her  guilty 

hand! 


112  LINES. 

Her  thrift  a  theft,  the   robber's   greed  and  cunning 

in  her  eye, 
Her   glory    shame,    her    flaunting    flag    on    all    the 

winds  a  lie ! 
t 

For  us  with  steady  strength  of  heart  and  zeal  for- 
ever true, 

The  champion  of  the  island  slave  the  conflict  doth 
renew, 

His  labor  here  hath  been  to  point  the  Pharisaic  eye 

Away  from  empty  creed  and  form  to  where  the 
wounded  lie. 

How  beautiful  to  us  should  seem    the   coming  feet 

of  such  ! 
Their  garments  of  self-sacrifice  have  healing  in  their 

touch  ; 


LINES.  113 

Their  gospel  mission  none  may  doubt,  for  they  heed 

the  Masters  call, 
Who  here  walked   with   the   multitude,  and   sat   at 

meat  with  all ! 


JOHN   QUINCY   ADAMS. 

T  T  E  rests  with  the  immortals ;   his  journey  has 

been  long: 
For   him   no   wail   of  sorrow,  but  a  paean  full   and 

strong ! 
So   well   and    bravely   has   he    done   the    work    he 

found  to  do, 
To    justice,   freedom,   duty,  God,  and   man   forever 

true. 

Strong  to  the   end,  a   man   of  men,  from    out   the 

strife  he  passed ; 
The  grandest  hour  of  all  his  life  was  that  of  earth 

the  last. 


JOHN  QUINCY   ADAMS.    .  115 

Now   midst   his   snowy  hills   of  home  to  the  grave 

they  bear  him  down, 
The  glory  of  his  fourscore  years  resting  on  him  like 

a  crown. 

The  mourning  of  the  many  bells,  the  drooping  flags, 
all  seem 

Like  some  dim,  unreal  pageant  passing  onward  in 
a  dream ; 

And  following  with  the  living  to  his  last  and  nar- 
row bed, 

Methinks  I  see  a  shadowy  band,  a  train  of  noble 
dead. 

'T  is  a  strange  and  weird  procession  that  is  slowly 

moving  on, 

* 

The  phantom  patriots  gathered  to  the  funeral  of 
their  son  ! 


Il6  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 

In  shadowy  guise  they  move  along,  brave  Otis  with 

hushed  tread, 
And  Warren   walking   reverently  by  the   father   of 

the  dead. 

Gliding  foremost  in  the  misty  band  a  gentle  form 
is  there, 

In  the  white  robes  of  the  angels  and  their  glory 
round  her  hair. 

She  hovers  near  and  bends  above  her  world-wide- 
honored  child, 

And  the  joy  that  heaven  alone  can  know  beams 
on  her  features  mild. 

And  so  they  bear  him   to  his  grave  in  the  fulness 

of  his  years, 
True   sage   and  prophet,  leaving   us   in   a   time  of 

many  fears. 


JOHN   QUINCY   ADAMS.  1 1/ 

Nevermore    amid    the  darkness    of   our    wild    and 

evil  day 
Shall   his   voice   be   heard   to  cheer    us,   shall    his 

finger  point  the  way. 


DR.   KANE   IN   CUBA. 

I 

A     NOBLE  life  is  in  thy  care, 

A  sacred  trust  to  thee  is  given  ; 
Bright  Island  !   let  thy  healing  air 
Be  to  him  as  the  breath  of  Heaven. 

The  marvel  of  his  daring  life  — 
The  self-forgetting  leader  bold  — 

Stirs,  like  the  trumpet's  call  to  strife, 
A  million  hearts  of  meaner  mould. 

Eyes  that  shall  never  meet  his  own 
Look  dim  with  tears  across  the  sea, 


DR.   KANE  IN  CUBA.  119 

Where  from  the  dark  and  icy  zone, 

Sweet  Isle  of  Flowers !  he  comes  to  thee. 

Fold  him  in  rest,  O    pitying  clime ! 

Give  back  his  wasted  strength  again ; 
Soothe,  with  thy  endless  summer  time, 

His  winter-wearied  heart  and  brain. 

Sing  soft  and  low,  thou  tropic  bird, 
From  out  the  fragrant,  flowery  tree, — 

The  ear  that  hears  thee  now  has  heard 
The  ice-break  of  the  winter-sea. 

Through  his  long  watch  of  awful  night, 
He  saw  the  Bear  in  Northern  skies ; 

Now,  to  the  Southern  Cross  of  light 
He  lifts  in  hope  his  weary  eyes. 


120  DR.   KANE   IN   CUBA. 

Prayers  from  the  hearts  that  watched  in  fear, 
When  the  dark  North  no  answer  gave, 

Rise,  trembling,  to  the  Father's  ear, 
That  still  His  love  may  help  and  save. 


LADY   FRANKLIN. 


thy  hands,  thy  work  is  over ; 
Cool  thy  watching  eyes  with  tears  ; 
Let  thy  poor  heart,  over-wearied, 
Rest  alike  from  hopes  and  fears, — 

Hopes,  that  saw  with  sleepless  vision 

One  sad  picture  fading  slow ; 
Fears,  that  followed,  vague  and  nameless, 

Lifting  back  the  veils  of  snow. 

For  thy  brave  one,  for  thy  lost  one, 

Truest  heart  of  woman,  weep ! 
6 


122  LADY    FRANKLIN. 

Owning  still  the  love  that  granted 
Unto  thy  beloved  sleep. 

Not  for  him  that. hour  of  terror 
When,  the  long  ice-battle  o'er, 

In  the  sunless  day  his  comrades 
Death  ward  trod  the  Polar  shore. 

Spared  the  cruel  cold  and  famine, 
Spared  the  fainting  heart's  despair, 

What  but  that  could  mercy  grant  him  ? 
What  but  that  has  been  thy  prayer  ? 

Dear  to  thee  that  last  memorial 
From  the  cairn  beside  the  sea  ; 

Evermore  the  month  of  roses 
Shall  be  sacred  time  to  thee. 


LADY   FRANKLIN.  123 

Sad  it  is  the  mournful  yew-tree 
O'er  his  slumbers  may  not  wave  ; 

Sad  it  is  the  English  daisy 
May  not  blossom  on  his  grave. 

But  his  tomb  shall  storm  and  winter 
Shape  and  fashion  year  by  year, 

Pile  his  mighty  mausoleum, 

Block  by  block,  and  tier  on  tier. 

Guardian  of  its  gleaming  .portal 

Shall  his  stainless  honor  be, 
While  thy  love,  a  sweet  immortal, 

Hovers  o'er  the  winter  sea. 


NIGHT   AND   DEATH 

r  I  ^HE  storm-wind  is  howling 
Through  old  pines  afar ; 
The  drear  night  is  falling 
Without  moon  or  star. 

The  roused  sea  is  lashing 
The  bold  shore  behind, 

And  the  moan  of  its  ebbing 
Keeps  time  with  the  wind. 

On,  on  through  the  darkness, 
A  spectre,  I  pass 


NIGHT*  AND   DEATH.  125 

Where,  like  moaning  of  broken  hearts, 
Surges  the  grass ! 

I  see  her  lone  head-stone, — 

'Tis  white  as  a  shroud  ; 
Like  a  pall,  hangs  above  it 

The  low  drooping  cloud. 

Who  speaks  through  the  dark  night 

And  lull  of  the  wind  ? 
'T  is  l-he  sound  of  the  pine-leaves 

And  sea- waves  behind. 

The  dead  girl  is  silent,  — 

I  stand  by  her  now  ; 
And  her  pulse  beats  no  quicker, 

Nor  crimsons  her  brow. 


126  NIGHT   AND   DEATH. 

The  small  hand  that  trembled, 
When  last  in  my  own, 

Lies  patient  and  folded, 
And  colder  than  stone. 

Like  the  white  blossoms  falling 
To-night  in  the  gale, 

So  she  in  her  beauty 
Sank  mournful  and  pale. 

Yet  I  loved  her!     I  utter 
Such  words  by  her  grave, 

As  I  would  not  have  spoken 
Her  last  breath  to  save. 

Of  her  love  the  angels 
In  heaven  might  tell, 


NIGHT   AND   DEATH.  127 

While  mine  would  be  whispered 
With  shudders  in  hell! 

'T  was  well  that  the  white  ones 
Who  bore  her  to  bliss 

Shut  out  from  her  new  life 

t 

The  vision  of  this. 

Else,  sure  as  I  stand  here, 
And  speak  of  my  love, 

* 

She  would  leave  for  my  darkness 
Her  glory  above. 


THE   MEETING  WATERS. 


beside  the  meeting  waters, 
Long  I  stood  as  in  a  dream, 
Watching  how  the  little  river 
Fell  into  the  broader  stream. 

Calm  and  still  the  mingled  current 

Glided  to  the  waiting  sea  ; 
On  its  breast  serenely  pictured 

Floating  cloud  and  skirting  tree. 

-s 

And  I  thought,  "  O  human  spirit ! 
Strong  and  deep  and  pure  and  blest, 


THE   MEETING   WATERS.  I2Q 

Let  the  stream  of  my  existence 
Blend  with  thine,  and  find  its  rest ! " 

I  could  die  as  dies  the  river, 
In  that  current  deep  and  wide  ; 

I  would  live  as  live  its  waters, 
Flashing  from  a  stronger  tide  ! 


6* 


THE   WEDDING   VEIL. 


Anna,  when  I  brought  her  veil, 
Her  white  veil  on  her  wedding  night, 
Threw  o'er  my  thin  brown  hair  its  folds, 
And,  laughing,  turned  me  to  the  light. 

"  See,  Bessie,  see  !  you  wear  at  last 
The  bridal  veil,  foresworn  for  years  !  " 

She  saw  my  face,  —  her  laugh  was  hushed, 
Her  happy  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

With  kindly  haste  and  trembling  hand 
She  drew  away  the  gauzy  mist  ; 


THE   WEDDING  VEIL.  131 

"Forgive,. dear  heart!"  her  sweet  voice  said  : 
Her  loving  lips  my  forehead  kissed. 

We  passed  from  out  the  searching  light ; 

The  summer  night  was  calm  and  fair: 
I  did  not  see  her  pitying  eyes, 

I  felt  her  soft  hand  smooth  my  hair. 

Her  tender  love  unlocked  my  heart ; 

'Mid  falling  tears,  at  last  I  said, 
"  Foresworn  indeed  to  me  that  veil 

Because  I  only  love  the  dead  ! " 

She  stood  one  moment  statue-still, 

And,  musing,  spake  in  undertone, 

*- 
"  The  living  love  may  colder  grow  ; 

The  dead  is  safe  with  God  alone ! " 


CHARITY. 

r  I  ^HE  pilgrim  and  stranger  who  through  the  day 

Holds  over  the  desert  his  trackless  way 
Where  the  terrible  sands  no  shade  have  known 
No  sound  of  life  save  his  camel's  moan, 
Hears,  at  last,  through  the  mercy  of  Allah  to  all, 
From  his  tent-door  at  evening  the  Bedouin's  call  : 
"  Whoever  tJiou  art  wlicse  need  is  great, 
In  the  name  of  God,  the  Compassionate 
And  Merciful  One,  for  thee  I  wait !  " 

For  gifts  in  His  name  of  food  and  rest 
The  tents  of  Islam  of  God  are  blest, 


CHARITY.  133 

Thou  who  hast  faith  in  the  Christ  above, 
Shall  the  Koran  teach  thee  the  Law  of  Love  ?  — 
O  Christian  !  —  open  thy  heart  and  door, 
Cry  east  and  west  to  the  wandering  poor : 
"  Whoever  thou  art  whose  need  is  great, 
In  the  name  of  Christ,  the  Compassionate 
And  Merciful  One,  for  thee  I  wait !  " 


THE    END. 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co 


H-lir^o 


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t 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

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